


Space Oddity

by irregularscribbler



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, More character tags will be added as they come in, Other, Reader-Insert, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-01-04 08:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irregularscribbler/pseuds/irregularscribbler
Summary: You are a typical poor college student. Equipped with the average human's drive to survive, graduate with minimal debt, and still have time to let loose, you're thrown for a loop when an errant space rock arrives. Suddenly, you're a whole lot more than what you seem to be...





	1. The Stars Look Very Different Today

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to create a work for the Transformer's franchise longest time, but never really had the time to do so. I've been searching for the perfect fic for so long, I just kinda figured I'd sit down and give writing my own a whirl. This is my first fictional work, so any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. I'm not 100% sure how this work will end up playing out, but I do have a general plot line in mind. Tags and ratings will be updated accordingly. Updates will occur as frequently as my schedule allows, and this work WILL be finished (unless it's terrible, in which case it will be finished very quickly). This first chapter is mostly set-up, dialogue and action to follow.

You’re tired. That kind of queasy tired that can only come from too many nights of poor sleep in a row mixed with an exceedingly unhealthy diet of tortilla chips and overly-sugared coffee. You tighten your grip on the steering wheel of your car, blearily focused on getting home. The forest outside zings by, a ripple of various shades of black, and some late night second-rate classic rock song starts playing on the radio. The sky above the two-lane backwoods road you’re hurtling down is clear, with more and more stars popping into view the farther from town you get. You hate working second shift, but it’s currently the only way to pay the rent through college with your class and research schedule.

You roll your stiff shoulders, groaning as you stew over the past few hours of retail hell you’d endured. You’d had to spend the last hour of your shift putting security tags on innumerable shopping baskets due to a recent trend of people using them as make-shift infant carriers and taking off with these classy prizes. You were beyond ready for your weekend off, as well as for the six-pack of fancy-ass beer your fancy-ass-beer-snob of a friend had dropped off ages ago on her last visit. You almost would have preferred a larger pack of a cheaper brand but hey, beer was beer and this stuff was probably a darn sight better than the frankly sad yeast water you’d been able to afford lately.

You’re almost home, and just beginning to ponder whether the leftover meatloaf waaaay in the back of the fridge was still edible and a viable late dinner (it totally was), when a sudden change in scenery pulls you back to sharp reality. A blisteringly bright light is currently hurtling past overhead, moving rapidly towards the horizon. It’s roughly the size of a car to your eyes, but it’s relatively high up, just below the stars it seems. You’re reminded of some frankly wild Russian dash-cam footage you’d seen of similarly bright lights zooming on by. You’re so distracted by the sight, you almost miss the turn off to your road. Swearing, you slam your breaks and turn onto your street. By the time you glance up the light has gone, lot to distance and the treetops. You’re somewhat unsettled by the occurrence, and flip absently through radio stations as you head towards your house, listening for any news of meteors or incoming nukes.

You hear nothing of interest, just late-night DJ’s and a terrible ad for the local car dealership.

You try to rationalize what you saw, being a scientist and all that. Well, you had one degree anyways. The Master's you were currently vying for would make that title much more official feeling. It could be a meteor, weird solar flare, maybe just some government conspiracy worthy stuff…? That train of thought comes to a stop at the station as you near the end of your driveway, and relief floods your veins. Your current residence, a tiny A-frame house in a small clearing, had once been a rental vacation home on a sprawling woodland property. Many more such houses dotted the area for acres. An innovative realty company had bought up the place when the previous owners had retired, turning it into affordable student housing. It was by no means glamorous. You had mice somewhere in the ceiling you could never quite catch, and the whole house was 450 square feet if you included your “Welcome” mat outside. Sometimes deer stared at you from the woods, which was viscerally horrifying as their eyes reflected any light that passed their way. Still, it was affordable, and allowed you to string up a hammock outside for warmer days.

You park your car, a 2000 Ford Explorer, and practically drag yourself out of it. You can hear the sound of a Friday-night party taking place in the next lot over, music and yelled conversations half dulled by the trees between you and the revelry. You aren’t too bothered, you’d sleep through anything at this point, and you’re due to be making the same amount of noise tomorrow night. You walk towards your door, glancing down as you dig in your bag for your phone. A faint noise reaches your ears, but your brain attributes it to the party to your left. You’re halfway to the door when you hear the joyful drunken revelry shift to panic.

You glance back up, turning towards the neighbor’s place, just in time to see a painfully bright something hurtling your way from over the treetops at incomprehensible speed. You’re immediately flooded with fear and nope out of the situation, flopping to the right. The dodge is partially of your own will, but mostyly because your legs have given out. Alas, you aren’t quite fast enough. Mid-flop, you swear you see the trajectory of whatever-the-hell this thing is shift, and your last eloquent thought before it hits you dead-on in the chest, slamming you into the dirt below, is;

“Oof.”


	2. You've Really Made the Grade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are required.”
> 
> That wasn’t the answer you had expected. 
> 
> “…pardon?”
> 
> Your shit brain was committing to Customer Service Mode™. You ask the question as you take the teeniest half step towards the speaker, cocking an ear towards them as though they were a quiet old lady asking where cheesecloth was rather than a hulking, half-visible behemoth.
> 
> “You are required. You have been found compatible to serve as the Guide.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this work to get any attention at all, so I appreciate each and every hit! I will be slow to publish chapters, as I don't have a beta reader and must edit myself. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

The very first thing you become aware of after the impact is that you’re cold. You’re chilled to the bone, and lying flat on your back on a surface that was somehow harder than the bed in your freshman dorm. You take a second to marvel at this revelation before opening your eyes.  
You are not in your clearing.   
You stare blankly upwards, towards a sky that is so foreign to you it invokes a strong feeling of fear. The stars are just...off. They’re too close to you in all the wrong places, and are far too bright and too big. You figure you’re either dead or comatose from what seemed to be a meteor impact. You may be one of the first people to ever be killed by a rock from space, which is as cool as it is distressing.   
You discover you can still move as you tentatively wiggle toes and fingers before sitting up with a groan. You’re shocked at how relatively alright you feel. Aside from being cold and stiff, you didn’t hurt at all. And it’s understandable, as you come to realize you’ve been laying on a sheet of some sort of metal extending as far as your eyes can see. Which isn’t very far due to the massive buildings filling most of your field of view, which are themselves hidden by rolling swathes of fog reminiscent of Silent Hill. You clamber to your feet and gawk at your surroundings.

“What in the hell…?”

You almost can’t hear your croaky question as the sound is lost to the fog filling the seemingly vast space around you. You didn’t quite know what you were perceiving, but it felt very real. 

“Y/N.”

You freeze as the sound of your name washes over you. You were dead. You died, and now you were being judged by the universe. You feel instant remorse for every fallen ice cube kicked under the fridge, that time you grabbed TWO candies from the bowl instead of one at Halloween. The list of terrible life deeds goes on and on. 

“Y/N”. 

The voice comes again, though you can’t figure out where it originates. You tentatively take a few steps towards the most easily visible building.

“Who’s there?”

You warily glance up and down at the building in a search for the origin of the voice calling your name. It’s not quite like anything you’ve ever seen outside of a sci-fi movie. Made of all red metal and glass, it stretches multitudes of stories above you, rounding out towards the top. You can feel your heart absolutely pounding away in your chest as you stare up, and are somewhat reassured by the fact that at least some biological mechanisms seem to be working in this strange place. You’re now positive you’re comatose, and having some weird journey into the subconscious.   
A movement to your left immediately draws your attention, and you feel your heart kick into overdrive. Something impossibly tall is moving through the fog directly towards you. And then to your right, another form manifests. Faded metallic sounds emanate from behind you, though you can’t turn to investigate as you seem to be absolutely frozen in place, though it’s not due to fear. You realize you truly aren’t afraid per say. There’s just a strong feeling of not belonging, like you really, REALLY shouldn’t be here. 

“Y/N. That is your designation.”

The statement comes from the form nearest you. It is absolutely not a question, this thing KNOWS who you are and they are not especially impressed. Even in your dreams you’d never been so forcefully addressed by anything. 

“Uh, y-yeah, that’s me. How...can I help you?” 

Your brain has automatically reverted to Customer Service Mode™ out of pure panic as you address the speaker. Even with your head craned back you still can’t get a good look at the being in front of you, the fog around you is shifting in strange ways. All you can tell is that whatever it is, it’s humanoid and very, very tall. 

“You are required.”

That wasn’t the answer you had expected. 

“…pardon?”

Your shit brain was committing to Customer Service Mode™. You ask the question as you take the teeniest half step towards the speaker, cocking an ear towards them as though they were a quiet old lady asking where cheesecloth was rather than a hulking, half-visible behemoth.

“You are required. You have been found compatible to serve as the Guide.”

The emphasis on the title of “Guide” catches your interest, as well as the somewhat clinical tone being used to address you. 

“Guide? Like… the afterlife guide for dead people…? Am I dead?! Is this judgement??”

Panic has finally won out over retail instinct and you have begun to feel rather unwell. 

“You are unharmed and will return from here shortly. Though your role is to be the bridge between two worlds, you will not be the bridge between what your people consider the living and the dead.”

A new, less calculated voice has begun soothing you. Another being steps forward, just as tall as the first one who had initially addressed you. This form is rather hard to see, as the fog seems to be thickening slowly but steadily.

“So…where am I then? Am I dreaming?”

The words came out much squeakier than intended, but not as shaky as before. Your heart is still kicking into overdrive, but the panic has dimmed slightly at the thought of not being quite dead. Maybe just nearly dead. The second form tilts its head slightly, almost thoughtfully. 

“You are in what would be considered, by your species, an altered state of consciousness. It was necessary in order to alert you to your appointment as the Guide, though time for further explanation is growing short. ”

“I don’t…what’s happening here? I’m in a coma? Are you my like, my subconscious trying to tell me that a space rock impact put me in a coma?”

You’re actively shivering now, your arms are crossed tightly across your chest against the cold and fog that feel like they’re seeping into your bones. The beings around you are almost entirely obscured from view and the buildings around you have long since been lost. 

“We cannot keep you here any longer to explain, already you feel the effects of this place. You will require more time to…acclimate to your appointment. Your questions will be answered in time. The First Meeting will occur shortly after you wake.”

“B-but I don’t-“ 

You try to voice your confusion and numerous concerns over what is transpiring through chattering teeth. The fog around you billows and deepens before you get the chance, totally obscuring the beings around you from view. It rushes in towards you and enshrouds you before you have the chance to turn and run. You feel your back hit the ground yet again as the world fades to a painful, nauseatingly bright white around you.


	3. Commencing Countdown, Engines On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You should probably be more concerned with your current situation and general well-being, but you've looked inside yourself and decided that what you are willing to put up with today is NOT fucking this. So you let yourself lay back and be annoyed that your upcoming days off may possibly spent in the hospital. You're throwing such a pity party that you don't notice the paramedic come up next to you, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. 
> 
> "What the slag ARE you?" He growls.
> 
> You aren't sure how to answer that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long interval between chapters, I've been in the process of moving and will be moving again in a month. Hopefully a longer chapter will make up for that. I've done a lot of research on character dialogue but I apologize if some characterization takes time to fall into, this is a first attempt at writing and should be treated as such. Many thanks to everyone who left feedback, constructive criticism and commentary is forever welcome! If this work inspires you to create any sort of work of your own, please send it my way!

It is with a violent lurch you return to the realm of wakefulness. You roll over onto your stomach, propping yourself up with your elbows as you make horrible wheezing noises, too cold to breathe properly. Concerned party goers from the next house are milling drunkenly through the woods near you, searching for the object that plummeted from above. You feel absolutely encompassed in static. The sensation ebbs and flows in strength across your skin nauseatingly in a set path, starting just under your collarbone. 

The sound of a man gleefully chasing a frog through the trees causes you to come back to yourself and glance up, gasping and shivering as the sensation fades. 

The grass around you has been flattened into a circle, roughly 10 feet in diameter. Strange lines are etched into the earth in seemingly haphazard clusters. Gouges made by pieces of the projectile breaking up upon its impact with your thoracic wall perhaps? The sounds of sirens begin emerging over the din from the crowd next door. It takes a moment for you to realize they are likely coming for you. 

Well, not you exactly. Whatever it was that the starry heavens hacked up on you surely was visible to the inhabitants around you upon entry and impact. 

You push yourself upright, producing a frankly alarming noise from your throat as you do. As you kneel on the forest floor, you steel yourself for the worst and rake a shaky hand across your chest in search of blood and viscera. You find a smattering of blood and experience an immense twinge of pain and odd burning sensation in as you lightly brush a hand across the front of your shirt. 

"Aww, holy hell..." you wheeze, settling back on your heels. Sirens ring out, ever closer. As do the drunken folks next door. A worried looking brunette gives you a painful start as she plops down next to you, swaying slightly during the transition from standing to sitting. 

"Heeeeey, you okay there champ? We saw that thing come in real fast and smash down here, I totally thought it was a drone! It wasn't though because when it came in over the trees it was way too big, it was like an exercise ball! Did it hit you?" She looks at you, suddenly serious. "YOU didn't fall from the sky, did you?

She's rambling gently, and glancing you over with friendly concern. She suddenly gains a more serious disposition. 

"YOU didn't fall from the sky, did you?"

You can only shake your head at that. 

"Hit.....I'm...not severelyhurt...probably....coulduse......acheckup."

You have to pause to suck in air every few words as your lungs are still burning but returning to normalcy. The shivering has gone at least, lost to the summer night. The brunette woman winces as you speak, and the roughly dozen companions who've ventured near to you look similarly pained. They mill about, murmuring sympathetically to one another. 

"Sounds like you may have some chest trauma there. Maybe lay down while we wait on the po-po to get here?"

Seeing your look of alarm at the mention of the "po-po" she hastily waves her hands.

"No men in black or anything, we just called 911 because we didn't know what fell, we didn't know if it was like part of a plane or a bigass rock! It was huge if it was a meteor, we thought for sure there'd be a massive crater here. Then Mongoose saw you laying here, and we asked for an ambulance as well!" 

She gently nudges you to a more relaxed position on your side as she talks, gesturing to the lanky man crashing through the woods after the frog as she utters the name 'Mongoose'. You panic at the thought of a hospital AND ambulance bill. 

"Don't have money...for the ambulance....full time student, part-time worker."

Words are becoming easier but the ache in your chest is becoming more pronounced. Your organs don't feel like they're quite in the right place, things seem to have been pushed down and aside. Blunt force trauma will do that to ya, you figure. Sirens are now practically screaming in your ears.The brunette drunkenly ponders your situation for a moment.

"Well, you got smoked by whatever it was," she shrugs, and glances around still in search for the fallen mass that struck you. "I think space shrapnel is a damn good reason to at least let them look you over. If you need a hospital trip, Mongoose is our designated driver tonight, he can get you there if it's not like, super urgent." She brightens up at that thought with a tipsy face-splitting grin. "I'll come with you! I'm in nursing school, it'll be great!"

You halfheartedly allow a tiny smile of your own to match hers as lights from emergency vehicles begin flashing in your periphery. You admire and appreciate her optimism, but can only silently hope that this guy Mongoose is as focused on driving and arriving at his destination alive as he is on catching that amphibian. As your chest throbs painfully however, you're suddenly not so sure about that. 

"Thank you, ...?"

She understands your questioning tone after a beat, reeling back and smacking herself in the forehead.

"Oh shit, my name is Anna, nice to meet you, ...?"

"Y/N. My name...is Y/N. Nice to meet you to."

Like moths drawn to a flame, party-goers stream to the edge of your clearing near the road as a small bundle of emergency vehicles pull up, lights and sirens screaming. That peculiar, nauseatingly staticky sensation rushes back and fades with a fury. You can't help but gasp softly. Anna gently pats your shoulder, and you watch miserably as a firetruck, ambulance, and police patrol car roll to a stop in front of you. You find that odd. Fire personnel were generally the first on scene, and the hospital was MUCH farther away than the police station...

That train of thought is derailed as the police car emits two rapid high pitched tones, commonly used at bar closing time to hurry people along. The crowd begins to disperse, not wanting to displease and officer of the law while wasted. Anna stands and wanders over towards the police car, waving warmly as she approaches. 

A paramedic clambers out of the cab of the ambulance and rushes over to you as a police officer exits his vehicle and makes his way to your new acquaintance, pad of paper and pen in hand. There's no signs of life from the firetruck, though you can clearly see a driver and what may be other members of crew inside. You don't much care though, as your pukiness meter has skyrocketed in the last few seconds. 

The paramedic has made it to your side, kneeling down and pulling a very intense looking tablet from his pocket. He has to be the gruffest looking man you've ever seen. He frowns as he glances from you to the tablet, and asks brusquely;

"Name?"

You introduce yourself for the second time in the last few moments. 

"What happened?"

He sounds exasperated. You pause and attempt to form a coherent thought while trying not to spew as well.

"I got hit. By something. From space?"

He looks at you sternly. Stowing his tablet away in a pocket, he motions for you to roll over onto your back. You oblige, attempting to save some dignity by propping yourself up on your elbows. 

"Is there any more detail about the incident you would care to give me than 'hit by something from space'? Because that's far from helpful on it's own."

"Well whatever it was it was pretty big I guess, but it didn't look that big to me, just like a softball on fire. It got me in the chest and put me flat on my ass," you answer, somewhat sheepish a your shitty initial response. That feeling is totally lost to a wheeze of pain as the paramedic touches the epicenter of impact, pressing gently on your sternum. A slight bit of that staticky sensation returns, just under his touch, but fades as soon as it comes.

"Hhhyup...hitrightthere...."

"It sure cracked you hard," he muses. "Did you lose consciousness?"

"Big time, hallucination and everything. Pretty sure I hit my head when I fell. Am I concussed do you think?"

You blink and squint suddenly as a painfully bright flashlight floods your eyes. 

"Keep 'em open, looking at your eyelashes doesn't do me any good!" 

The barked order from the paramedic causes you to force your eyes open as wide as they will allow. You do not care to make this man angry while nauseous and struggling to breathe and speak normally. 

"What kind of hallucinations did you experience?" 

"I...well, I thought I died? I was in this misty city, and there were beings," you're sheepish once again, this time at the ridiculous nature of your reaction during the swan dive into your unconscious you'd just taken. 

The paramedic looks at you somehow more seriously than before and slowly lowers his flashlight. You feel your irises practically give a sigh of relief and blink away the afterimage.

"What did these 'beings' look like?"

"Tall. Tall and humanoid. Couldn't see much more. Does that mean something?"

He gently pulls down the collar of your shirt to take a better look at the top of the abrasion gracing your chest. He stills as his eyes rake across the damage done to your skin. 

"You need to come with me. This is more than can be dealt with out here."

You glance towards Anna in a panic, astronomical hospital bills flashing by your minds eye. She's well engrossed in conversation with the police officer, a professional looking young man who is simultaneously taking down every word from her rambling account of events and keeping an eye on you and the paramedic. You feel as though you're under a microscope every time his gaze flickers towards you. The paramedic in question notes your attention shift, and places a hand reassuringly on your shoulder.

"You need to come with me, any alternative won't cut it. You need to be seen right away. Can you walk?" 

That question takes you by surprise, you figured everyone got carted off on stretchers if they needed an ambulance. Maybe you'd been watching too much TV lately. Or perhaps you were being a baby. You got whapped with a hot rock that had probably mostly burnt up in the atmosphere. It probably only looked to be as big as it was because it was still on fire or something. 

"I mean probably yeah, but I might puke on you."

The paramedic stands and pockets his flashlight.

"I've had far worse than that on me." He glances back over his shoulder as a red-haired fireman approaches the two of you. "About time. Help me get this one up and situated." 

A fresh wave of pain, nausea, and fleeting static rolls over you as you are pulled to your feet. You don't have the sense to throw a polite 'Seeya later!' over your shoulder at Anna as you're half carried to the back of the ambulance. Nor do you have the energy to wonder why this fireman had not been earlier available to help, or survey the damage. 

The closer you get to the vehicle, the stronger your nausea grows. You attribute it to being suddenly upright after so much time on the ground and grit your teeth as you will it to pass. The moment you are lifted into the back of the vehicle the encompassing, staticky feeling rapidly returns with a vengeance that makes you physically recoil. 

You feel alarmed. And for a nanosecond, you pick up the vaguest feeling of surprise that doesn't belong to you. The paramedic recoils almost as soon as you do. He whisks your arm off of his shoulder and leaves you to sag pitifully against the firefighter, who heroically heaves you onto the stretcher. You fall back against it with a groan and bring your hands up to rest on your aching chest. As soon as the sensation comes, it goes, taking some nausea with it. The paramedic looks at you scrupulously as the fireman hurriedly hops out of the back of the ambulance, shutting the doors on you. You should probably be more concerned with your current situation and general well-being, but you've looked inside yourself and decided that what you are willing to put up with today is NOT fucking this. So you let yourself lay back and be annoyed that your upcoming days off may possibly spent in the hospital. You're throwing such a pity party for a moment that you don't notice the paramedic come up next to you, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. 

"What the slag ARE you?" He growls.

You aren't sure how to answer that.


	4. Here I am Sitting in a Tin Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No," he answers you slowly , as though speaking to a child, "I AM the vehicle. What you see before you is merely a projection, far more advanced than your Earth light-show nonsense."
> 
> Your face actually hurts as it twists into the most disbelieving expression it has ever produced. The paramedic scoffs at you once more, returning his attention to his frantic typing. A sudden calm washes over you, as in the back of your head you hear the last words the kinder dream form had spoken to you echo back: _The First Meeting will occur shortly after you wake._
> 
> "Prove it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh boy this took me awhile to finish up, I apologize for the delay. I just moved to a new town and began a new job, so I've been without internet for quite some time. I have everything set up now, so chapters should be out every two weeks or so. Thank you to everyone who has left a comment, I appreciate your input and hope to see more! Comment a future plot point you'd like to see, I'll try to work in some suggestions so long as it fits the overarching plot! Constructive criticism is always appreciated, thanks for reading!

You aren't sure how to answer that, partially because 'slag' is such a weird old-man swear, and partially because you aren't quite sure what else you could possibly be at the moment aside from a sore, sad little nugget of a human. You definitely look the part from what you can make out of your reflection in the vehicles rear windows.

"I'm a graduate student?"

You can practically feel the temperature drop inside of the ambulance as the paramedic's facial expression sours further. 

"Drop the smart-aft attitude. I've been reading datapads since LONG before you were even a concept, and I've NEVER seen anything putting off the energy patterns you are. What. Are. You." 

He waves the hefty tablet he had been working with earlier under your nose in a menacing way. You lift your chin and straighten as much as your aching chest will allow, suddenly indignant.

"I'm pretty battered up and disoriented is what I am. I talked to space Jesus and ALL his apostles when I was taking a lay down in the dirt. My vital signs are probably, not surprisingly, wack. I'm not a drug user is that's what you're getting at here!"

The paramedics eyebrows ascend to the heavens as you speak, annoyance and suspicion radiating so strongly off of him that your nausea returns and grows to a debilitating level. As you finish your rant and flop back with a groan the paramedic starts up with a dangerous pitch in his voice, reaching to jab you for emphasis in the chest.

"I don't know what kind of half-bit ploy this is, but trust me, you aren't going to-"

As his fingertip makes contact with the dead center of the impact markings on your chest, there is an audible crackle of static. The paramedic is cut off mid-sentence, seemingly frozen in shock. As you attempt to pull away, you realize you're just as incapable of reacting. His eyes flicker back and forth from his outstretched hand to your own equally befuddled gaze. Another wave of static washes over you, and your eyes fixate even more firmly on the paramedic's pupils. It's horrendously awkward eye-contact, but it only gets worse as you suddenly experience a trickling sensation near the corners of your mouth. 

You hope to the heavens if you've begun drooling during this unwanted staring contest, the universe would be kind enough to send another rock down to end your abysmal existence within the next few milliseconds. The paramedic seems to be experiencing this same train of thought judging by how hard he's trying to break your gaze and retract his finger from where it's planted on your sternum. 

The universe seems to have other plans however. 

Using your peripheral vision you can still kind of see your slightly distorted reflection in the ambulance windows. You expect to see either drool or blood making its way down your face. 

You do not. 

Whatever it is that's trickling it's merry way in two thin lines from the corners of your closed mouth is an unnaturally vibrant shade of blue. As your heart-rate skyrockets uneasily once more, you can see and feel the mystery substance run its course down your neck, towards the bared portion of skin on your chest. You lose sight of it as it drizzles down over your collarbone, and settles just above the paramedic's touch. Your staring match comes to an end as his eyes are permitted to snap back down, gazing at where his hand meets your bruised and broken flesh. 

It's as though a bombshell has gone off. 

It's immediately evident that whatever force binding the both of you in place has relinquished its hold as the paramedic reels backward, letting fly a stream of expletives that's enough to make any frat boy blush. You take this chance to bolt to the back of the ambulance, dragging your shirt collar back down to gape stupidly at your sternum. The circles of bruising and blocky gashes now surround a thin line of similarly blocky symbols, drawn with the bright blue substance that had slipped from your mouth. In a daze you raise a hand to touch it, trying to wipe it away. You realize with a burst of horror that the symbols lie under your skin. You frantically try to scrub them away, ignoring pangs of hurt as you press down harder and harder on your skin. Your touch has no effect, you now have a sick new tattoo.

You slump back against the stretcher absolutely dumbfounded. You hear the paramedic finish his spiel behind you, and are almost immediately thrown to the floor as the ambulance starts moving. You whirl around to face the paramedic and valiantly try to keep your balance. Your chest cavity takes much offense to this.

"Who the **FUCK** is driving this thing?!"

His mouth is set in grim line as he types violently away on his datapad. He pauses when you address him, slowly lifting his head to look at you before answering. "I am." 

"What with your _MIND_?! You don't expect me to buy that do you? What's happening here? Are you from the government, or some-some men in black kinda deal-or what?!"

"No," he answers you slowly and calmly as though speaking to a child having a tantrum, "I AM the vehicle. What you see before you is merely a projection, far more advanced than your Earth light-show nonsense."

Your face actually hurts as it twists into the most disbelieving expression it has ever produced. The paramedic scoffs at you once more, returning his attention to his frantic typing. A sudden calm washes over you, as in the back of your head you hear the last words the kinder dream form had spoken to you echo back: _The First Meeting will occur shortly after you wake._

"Prove it."

That gets his full attention. "Do you promise not to faint, throw up, or otherwise worsen your condition or that of my interior?"

You shudder at the though of being in somethings 'interior', but nod resolutely. He nods back, before vanishing in a way reminiscent of an old TV turning off, with just a slight flash. You fall on your ass as your knees call it quits. You startle violently as his voice rings out, as clearly as if he's still next to you. 

"My name is Ratchet. I am a member of a stranded crew of Cybertronians, whose ship crashed on your planet so long ago, it would be medical malpractice if I told you the exact number of years in your current state. Yes, by ship I do in fact mean spaceship. Yes, I am an alien, no we are not from your 'government', nor are we here to hurt you or take over your planet. Myself and the other two vehicles you saw earlier belong to a faction of our people called the Autobots. Are you still following me?

He's rattling off what sounds like a well rehearsed string of earth-shattering revelations by the second, but you remain strangely relaxed throughout. It's as though this is old information to you, or something you had always had a vague knowledge of somewhere in the back of your brain. You nod silently as he takes a corner rather quickly, sliding across the floor in an undignified way. You realize he now has no way to see you back here, and open your mouth to respond but are cut off as he continues, a slight flicker of his amusement drifting across you. 

"We detected a rather unusual object entering the atmosphere. It possessed a signature very similar to the one seen when another of our kind approaches this planet. It was also emitting a distress frequency. We came here anticipating an injured mech. Yet, we found you. Understandably, we were initially wary. It appears that whatever struck you has had an....effect on your physiology. The extent of which we will not know until you have further been examined at our base, with proper equipment. However," a sense of reluctant reverence washes from him, "if the old legends hold true, which unfortunatly it seems they do, it would seem you carry a very important purpose. And a very important message for our leader." 

You take a moment to process this, thoughts running a mile a minute. You've been thrown so much mind-shattering information in such a short time, you'd briefly lost track of the pain still gently rolling through your body. Your chest is still pissed off, and you delicately scrub a hand over it in an attempt to soothe it. After this brief respite, you speak up. 

"Well, in that case...take me to your leader?" You let out a laugh that holds no real humor, but ample amounts of coping mechanism. Ratchet is outwardly annoyed, but privately amused at your lame attempt at a joke. It seems your personality has started to emerge from the shock. You drive on into the night.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Miles and miles of forest stretch towards a mountainous landscape. Hidden in the valley between two such mountains, lies the entrance to a great spaceship, built for beings that tower over the organic inhabitants of the planet. Such a massive structure would be impossible to hide, if not for the hand of mother nature working tirelessly throughout the millennia. Rock, rivers, and trees had risen and fallen enough times to conceal the metal mass almost entirely from view. Only a few well camouflaged entryways remain visible to the perceptive eye. Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots stands on a ridge just outside of the largest of these entryways, gazing to the East. The Matrix of Leadership thrums eagerly in his chest: someone long anticipated had finally awoken. 

A warm summer breeze trails by, rustling the leaves on the trees. The sea of green leaves flip to show off their silver undersides, rolling east towards the location of the approaching away team with precious charge in tow. For the first time in a long while, Optimus muses, Hope is on the horizon.


	5. I Think My Spaceship Knows Which Way to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve been more or less abducted by an alien species. You had no way to get back home in a reasonable amount of time, and you certainly had no way to escape sentient vehicles let alone robots of the size Ratchet had described to you. You weren’t exactly sure how tall 6 meters was off the top of your head, but it had to be damn big. They could easily rip you to bits in their quest for knowledge regarding your physiology. And if you weren’t killed during that and they didn’t want you to go, didn’t want knowledge of their presence on Earth getting out to the public, you were as good as the raccoon you’d passed on the side of the road on your way home from work earlier that night should you do a runner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of overestimated how much free time I was going to have, it looks like once a month is about all I'll be able to maintain for updates. I apologize for that, I'll try my utmost for longer chapters overall to make up for it. I'm basing 'bot heights off of G1 portrayals, so an average human adult (like you, reader!) would come up to just about Optimus Primes knee. I hope you enjoy!

You were fairly quiet throughout the rest of the roughly hour-long drive. Partially because you were in what might be categorized by medical professionals as moderate to severe shock, mostly because you were literally sitting INSIDE of another sentient being which squicked you right out. You had perched yourself as perilously on the stretcher as possible, trying to avoid unnecessary contact with what you hypothesized may be various parts of Ratchet's metal viscera. That is, until he took a corner faster than you'd ever seen any 'Fast and Furious' driver go. The verbal dressing down you received after disentangling your freshly bruised and battered form from various medical implements snapped you out of your stupor. You settled yourself more solidly on the stretcher, curiosity floodgates opened, and out poured the questions. From these, Ratchet had had established a few facts about your benevolent kidnappers. He had refused to say much more about your close encounter of the first through fifth kinds with the UFO (Unidentified Flying Orb) until you returned to his base. You were REALLY hoping to avoid encounters of the sixth kind at all costs, so you didn’t push him on that

Ratchet and his buddies weren't just conscious vehicles in the form of Earth transportation. They could transform, turn into incredibly advanced humanoid robots MUCH taller than a human being. Well, not all of them. Some were quite small apparently, closer to your size than that of others of their kind. They could think independently, had friendships and made close bonds, and very evidently could feel emotion. Of that you had absolutely no doubt as it seemed you’d become a regular Councilor Troi, regarding Ratchet at least. He had no answers for you as far as why that was, citing a need to talk to Optimus Prime to further understand the empathic abilities the UFO had blessed you with. 

These robots had originated on the planet Cybertron. Yes, planet. You hadn’t misheard that fact in his earlier spiel. You hadn't gotten to hear too much additional info about the place as the mournful feelings emanating off of Ratchet as he thought about his home planet had caused feelings of dizziness and puke to return with a vengeance. 

Combining that sensation with the feeling of your two remaining braincells being blown for about the 27th time today had driven you to hunch over and make some unappealing retching noises. Ratchet strategically swapped to other subjects, perhaps for his interior’s sake more than yours.

He and others from Cybertron had crash landed on a much younger Earth and gone into a dormant state he had referred to as “stasis”, only to woken innumerable years later by sudden seismic activity. That awakening had occurred mere months ago, and they had been lying low ever since. There was more to the story than that, but Ratchet had been reluctant to tell you anymore, “Given your already incredibly fragile mental and physical state.” You take some offense to this. 

“I’m handling this incredibly well thank you. I plan to stay in shock until my body literally can’t maintain that physical state, pass out due to the stress, and hope I wake up fine.”

The swell of incredulousness coming from Ratchet is enough to get you to take a turn strategically changing the subject of conversation. 

“So I know you don’t want to get into this more until we get to this…Optimus Prime right?” He makes a noise of affirmation. “But you had mentioned that you were drawn to where I got got by the…thing. What grabbed your attention?”

“We picked up an approaching object on scanners, indicating that it was entering the atmosphere. It was producing readings that led us to believe it was another of our kind, approaching Earth through some means.” He pauses for a moment, seemingly hesitant to continue. He might just be tired of your pestering you figure, but he continues. “It was however emitting an unusual distress signal, which is what especially caught Optimus’ attention.”

“Unusual how?”

“It was transmitted in an ancient, now unused form of our language. The only one of us to recognize what it was, was Optimus.”

“Huh. So is that what this all is? It's not just very unique impact marks?” You tug your now stretched-beyond-repair shirt collar down, and glance at your chest. The shirt was no real loss, it was yet another ugly free t-shirt work had given you to promote ‘Company Spirit and Unity!!!’ or whatever. You had lost a workplace outfit yet gained a new sleep shirt with a tasteful v-neck. You had to keep looking on the bright side, lest you inadvertently cease stomping down the emotional backlog from the night you still had to process and break. 

The circle of what you now reasoned to be blocky glyphs was somewhat smudged looking and hard to read now that it had scabbed over. You’re dismayed to see that bruises had spread in a mottled, ugly camo-like pattern from collarbone towards your navel. You’re somewhat morbidly delighted to see that every color of the rainbow is represented but equally dismayed to see the splash of bruises still merrily surround a few nauseatingly bright blue glyphs. They’re incredibly clear and easy to make out.

“That’s not my area of expertise. I’m a medical professional, not a linguist. Fortunately for you and your specie’s apparently zealously curious tendencies we’ve nearly arrived at our destination. I have the utmost certainty your questions will be answered…and you’ll have an onslaught of questions of your own to address. In addition, we need to assess EXACTLY what has been done to your physiology.”   
With that, you tentatively stand up, padding over to the back windows as you feel Ratchet slow down very slightly as he takes an especially steep turn. You hadn’t realized, but you’ve gotten comfortable with the idea of being ferried around by a sentient ambulance. It was better than paying for an actual real ambulance at the least, despite your somewhat gruff chauffeur. You probably really did need to go see a human doctor when you got home. 

If. If you got home. 

Would they…let you go at some point? Take you back home after you had a chat? Surely that assessment of your physiology would be noninvasive. Your stomach lurches and you try in vain to not linger on that thought, taking in the view of mountain foothills rolling behind you as a distraction. Massive mounds of striated rock zip by, almost as colorfully pigmented as your bruises. You can see headlights from the firetruck not too far behind you. You were sure the cop car wasn’t lagging a great distance behind that. Who were they? You hadn’t learned their names yet. You hadn’t asked to be fair, but you’d be sure to once you arrived at your destination. It’d be rude not to you think, and then your train of thought once more hits a screeching halt. 

You’ve been more or less abducted by an alien species. You had no way to get back home in a reasonable amount of time, and you certainly had no way to escape sentient vehicles let alone robots of the size Ratchet had described to you. You weren’t exactly sure how tall 6 meters was off the top of your head, but it had to be damn big. They could easily rip you to bits in their quest for knowledge regarding your physiology. And if you weren’t killed during that and they didn’t want you to go, didn’t want knowledge of their presence on Earth getting out to the public, you were as good as the raccoon you’d passed on the side of the road on your way home from work earlier that night should you do a runner. Yet here you were, worrying about good etiquette and fretting that you hadn’t asked either a firetruck or a police cruiser what their names were. You suppose it’s your attempt at maintaining some sense of normalcy.

A matter of hours and your life was flipped-turned upside down. Will Smith had warned you all those years ago and you hadn’t listened. 

You rest your forehead on the window glass a bit harder than you really should, breathing heavily now. You’d just about reached your limit of fuckery and primal fear for the day, what more would some mild head trauma do. Your eyes flicker back up from where they’d fixed on the pressed metal floor, and you return your gaze to the firetruck following behind. After scrutinizing it for a moment you get a bit of a surprise as the lights running around the top of the truck turn on for a moment, flickering cheerfully at you. You deer in headlights back at where you imagine the firetrucks eyes are, before hesitantly raising a hand and giving a little wave. 

The firetruck blinks their headlights at you in response, and you can feel a faint glimmer of delight emanating from them as you genuinely relax a little at the friendly gesture and offer a small smile and more vigorous wave back. The emotion is reminiscent to the one that is instilled in you upon seeing a snake wearing a tiny hat. 

You don’t figure that’s the sort of reaction someone who’d dissect you without a second thought would have seeing their subject wave back. That makes you relax even further just in time to tense up again as Ratchet slows in earnest, now driving across rocky, sandy ground. From what you can make out in the dim dawn light, you’ve gone through the foothills, and hit the base of a small mountain. Ratchet’s voice rings out once more.

“Can you walk on your own?”

“Y-yeah, my legs are feeling fine. As long as I don’t have to like...run or walk fast, my chest is still pissed so the whole breathing thing is rough.”

“We will assess your damage shortly. Right now, I need you to step outside and move at least five feet away from myself.”

The back-door pops open, and you don’t question how. You just gently step down out and onto the ground, grumbling as you’re forced to bend and the pre-sunrise chill in the air sends a painful shiver through you. You quickly compose yourself to about face and scuttle away from the ambulance form of Ratchet as instructed. What you see next makes you scrub aggressively at your eyes, sure that you’re hallucinating from being awake for probably 22 hours now. 

Everything on the vehicles is shifting, rotating, pulling upwards. Whirling parts form legs and arms, the hood and windshield of the vehicle pull up to for a torso and chest, and then…a head with a bright red chevron on top. Bright blue eyes, the same color as the glyphs sitting under your skin rest just below the shape. The process of transforming into this robot is almost instantaneous, but it feels to your sluggish mind that its taken hours. 

You realize your mouth has fallen and you snap it shut as you gaze up at the white and red robot towering above you. You’re vaguely reminded of how you felt during your dirt nap, reverently staring up at a mysterious being made entirely foreign to you. Only it doesn’t feel so foreign this time. Maybe it’s the familiarity of seeing eyes, and the distinct metal face they sit in. Maybe because he’s a good deal shorter than the shadowy forms you’d been surrounded by. Whatever the case, you’re still intimidated. 

You hear another chorus of metal moving behind you, and you turn to find that the firetruck and police car have similarly shifted. They’re all about the same height, but they’re very different in appearance to your surprise. The firetruck’s robotic form is mostly red naturally, but has additional reinforcement around head, and white wing-like structures sit just above their shoulders. The police car forms a shorter black and white being, a white chevron adorning their forehead. The car doors come to rest protruding from their back, like wings.   
Your mouth has worked its way open again. You make several squeaky attempts at speaking, before you manage a sentence.

“That was wild.” 

You’re screaming internally. You had the opportunity to politely greet some brand-new extraterrestrial beings, and you used some middle school level slang at them. To your immense relief you’d gone unheard, as all three metal beings were looking far over your head. You turn to follow their gaze and realize in the brightening dawn light you’re standing at the base of a remote mountain by the name of Mount St. Hillary, part of a protected wildlife area. 

You also see, scattered along the mountainside, many more massive multi-colored metallic forms. Some appear quite small compared to others, truly closer to your height than others of their kind as Ratchet had said. But front and center and standing taller than them all, was a bot that instantly screamed “LEADER” at you. You can FEEL the responsibility and wisdom emanating off of them, just as you’d felt benevolent annoyance emitting from Ratchet. 

You can’t make out anything below their eyes, a metal mask covers where you imagine the nose and mouth to be. From the shape of grill and windows that make up their torso, and their sheer size, you can assume they turn into some sort of bigass truck or other vehicle. The towering blue, red, and gray bot takes an earth-shuddering step forward towards you, hands outstretched in a friendly manner.

“Greetings, I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. Welcome to our residence.”


End file.
